


First class seat on my lap boy, riding comfortable

by dropletsofshadow



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, Hinata is a sly motherfucker, M/M, Riding, Swearing, don't read if ya don't want spoilers, fuck lots of it, i don't know wha the fuck this is, mentions of past OiKage but you couldn't expect anything less from me, not really - Freeform, now, the porn tags, they just fuck about, this is actually just porn wrapped in self-indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-21
Updated: 2016-02-21
Packaged: 2018-05-22 09:34:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6074164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dropletsofshadow/pseuds/dropletsofshadow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Uni!AU. There's a party and Kageyama is a silly bugger. Sassiness leads to bad things!! and by bad things i mean sex.</p><p> </p><p>(or, everybody goes to the same Uni, Kageyama and Oikawa are bestfriends and they both have a big fat crush.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	First class seat on my lap boy, riding comfortable

**Author's Note:**

> *WARNING* THIS IS A CRACK FIC PLEASE READ WITH CAUTION.
> 
> This it the result of mere self-indulgence and my undying love for Oikawa Tooru and Kageyama's social awkwardness. 
> 
> I realized half-way writing this that somehow i had lost sight of the pairing i was supposed to write about and that i had just hopped on the Oikage's love bandwagon without properly realizing before it was to late.
> 
> I'm weak. I'm so, so weak.
> 
> I'm [Lollypoopz](http://lollypoopz.tumblr.com/) on tumblr.

The thing is, Tobio doesn’t hate Hinata Shouyou.

For instance, he doesn’t really know the guy. Has probably seen him only a bunch of times wandering aimlessly around campus and caught few glimpses of his bright orange hair bouncing in rhythm with the loud music at random parties of their course mates or in the shittiest clubs in the neighbourhood.

He hasn’t been able to gather much material in terms of personal information about the lad - it took him nearly five months before he even managed to know his name and whether he was legal – other than he’s very much legal and that every Tuesday precisely at 9:45 Hinata sits on a bench just outside the class where he has microbiology and diligently eats a scone, managing with astonishing precision to get crumbs all over his face every single time.

The fact that he knows this might sound awfully creepy -which it is- but Tobio puts it all down to very unfortunate chances and to the universe never working to his favour, which out of spite made sure Tobio had his procedural law course on the same alleyway, just few metres away.

One thing Tobio was able to realize by himself though - without embarrassing himself further more with his very, very awkward -and so far failing- way of attempting to sound casual while asking things around - is that apart from how absolutely boisterous, loud and generally obnoxious he is, Hinata Shouyou is one of those people that could easily befriend a plant, if the occasion called for it.

And like. Tobio _tried_ , once, when he had drunk himself into a stupor and in an extreme moment of loneliness the friendly-looking cactus had seemed far more approachable than most of the people in that room. So he knows it’s not actually easy.

Put that aside, if Tobio had to stoically analyse the nature and approximate physiognomy of the vague feelings – if you can go as far as to call them so - he has towards the tiny ginger boy, someone might even say they coast along obsessive, just on the annoying side of absolutely hooked.

Not that he would ever admit that, mind him, would probably prefer to be castrated than to acknowledge his crush, let alone act upon it.

To be honest, on a strictly objective and aesthetic level, Hinata isn’t even that great of a deal. He’s not particularly handsome or interesting or, like, boners-inducing sexy, so Tobio can’t really, _really_ explain why he feels the way he does. Can’t explain the way his stomach clenches uncomfortably and ties in painful knots when Hinata is near or always a bit too far. His sweaty palms, the twitch of his cock as he lets his mind wander freely in alcohol-induced deliriums, the blush bleeding across his cheeks when Hinata catches him looking.

He can’t explain it because Tobio is not used to feel like this, to have people making him feel uncomfortable, always and perpetually at loss, like not matter how hard he tries he just can’t take hold of the situation and how his body reacts to it.

But if there’s one thing Tobio knows for sure, as he stares at him from across the cramped room, leaned against the kitchen counter beside Sugawara from Nursery class as he bobs his head in rhythm to the shitty music blasting from the amplifiers, is that he really can’t stand him.

Can’t stand how deliciously obscene Hinata looks as his white henley rudely slips down his shoulder, exposing the pale expanse of skin and the delicate structure of his collarbone, hard lines Tobio wants to trace with his fingertips, then his tongue, to lick the harsh lights of the strobe off his skin.

Can’t stand how sinfully his bony and slender fingers curl around the neck of the beer bottle he’s been nursing for the past half an hour, the way the sound of his laugh echoes inside his ribcage, lingers deeper under his skin, sound so high not even the loud music can drown out.

Can’t stand how he feels like he can’t breathe with how much he needs to know if the boy would bring his hand to his mouth to stifle his moans, in the same way he’s doing now to suppress his laughter, if Tobio were to bend him over that kitchen counter and eat him out till he doesn’t remember how _not_ to beg.

To know if the boy would turn into a silent whimpering mess, clutching the sheets and drooling all over himself, or literally scream the place down, when he gets fucked so hard he doesn’t even remember his own name.

 

The thing is, Tobio really, _really_ doesn’t hate Hinata Shouyou.

 

 

\----

 

 

“No Tobio, for the last time, I’m not going to—“

“No wait, I’m serious this time. This is clearly a skin rash and I’m sure--”

“We’ve gone through this far too many times to be even considered healthy, Tobio, you can’t be allergic to a person, so stop it.”

Tobio pouts. Because he’s really mature, that’s it. “I’m still not fully convinced,” he mutters, winding his arms together in the attempt to look petulant and as childish as humanly possible.

Oikawa levels him with a glare that could only be described as utterly fond and just slightly exasperated, flicks his forehead and takes a sip of his drink, a concoction of various liquors Tobio completely ignores the names of. And even though he has to agree that it’s highly improbable to be allergic to someone, Tobio would beg to differ. There must be some chemical, or like, biological reason as to why every time he’s near Hinata he flushes like a school girl with a crush and turns into the most embarrassing idiot who has ever walked the planet.

Tobio blames it on chemistry. Or something.

“I hate him,” he states after a while, conscious of the fact that there is a high change he might be talking to himself at this point, considering how Oikawa tends to tune him out as soon as the name Hinata is uttered, or as a basic rule, whenever Tobio isn’t talking about him. As predicted, Oikawa is typing something on his phone, probably pursuing once again his occupation as professional stalker of Iwaizumi from Kunimi’s course. “I really, really abhor everything that regards him. Why is he even always smiling?”

Oikawa keeps scrolling, eyes flickering over the screen in haste, just like his long and slim fingers. “There is this thing called _happiness_ Tobio, you absolute ass-”

“Yeah but why does he have to do it all the time. It’s so annoying.”

“ _You_ are annoying.”

And this— _this_ is exactly what Tobio probably can’t stand about Hinata the most; his absolutely abrasively omnipresent enthusiasm, the way he doesn’t seem to be able _not_ to smile, like there is a grin always creasing his face and making something deep inside Tobio warm up, making it impossible for him to look away.

God, he so wants to punch Hinata’s dick with his mouth.

“Do you think that blondie likes boobs as much as you like my dick?” Oikawa asks suddenly, breaking Tobio’s very disturbed train of thoughts. He’s literally sprawled on the arm of the couch, trying and failing miserably to strick a supposedly sexy pose.

“I don’t like your dick that much, you know,” Tobio says without looking for the aforementioned person, opting for shamelessly lying instead of admitting to himself that _yes_ , he kind of likes Oikawa’s dick, probably.

Definitely.

“Yes you do.”

“No I don’t.”

“Oh sorry,” Oikawa starts, placing an apologetic hand on his heart – if he had one, that’s it. “My bad, it’s just that I distinctly remember your mouth being wrapped around it quite often a couple of years ago and it looked like you were enjoying it quite a bit boobear.”

Oikawa should shove his pantagruelic confidence up his butt in Tobio’s opinion. “I have no memory of this ever happening,” he lies as he sinks further down the fluffy couch, kicking his legs up over Oikawa’s.

Friendship sucks.

With any introspective urges stowed firmly away, Tobio opts to shut his mind off for a while and settles on simply enjoying the rather interesting display of human affection occurring in front of him. There, on a corner on the couch on the other side of the room, two girls are unabashedly indulging in a rather inappropriate PDA, grabbing each other boobs and gingerly snogging each other’s faces off with what in Tobio’s not so modest opinion is definitely too much tongue.

Someone just lacks some proper technique and finesse.

Just as someone just lacks some dignity, someone who goes with the name of Oikawa and who is disgustingly drooling all over himself just beside him, eyes trained on the previously mentioned blonde girl who seems to reciprocate the attention. “Which organ should I sell to pay for a person to let me sleep on their boobs” he questions, head between both hands and pout on his face. His perfectly styled hair is already a mess, tiny spikes going each for their own way. It’s so rude and unfair that Oikawa manages to look so hot and beautiful as if he just got off a runaway even with a ratty pair of jeans and a lame t-shirt on.

Tobio looks at him with mildly disgust. “Ugh, you’re so gay.”

Oikawa _squeaks_ in indignation, turns his body towards his friend and distorts his face in a sassy a glare. “How _dare_ you.” Tobio has just a split second to realize the gravity of what he’s just said. Never, ever underestimate the love of Oiwaka for boobs, and how far he’s willing to put his dignity at stake just to proudly defend it. To prove the point, he decides to engage in a rather enthusiastic exhaustive descriptive digression about Nicki Minaj’s boobs and all the proofs that stand to support his theory about how they constitute a terrifying menace against gravity and other physic laws Tobio isn’t very sure exist.

Thankful that over the years he came to master perfectly the art of selective hearing - and before Oikawa might start exposing a power point - Tobio zones him out, thinks about the warm bed that’s faithfully waiting for him at home, about the bowl of cereals he forgot this afternoon on his bedside table that he could definitely devour once he gets back home, drunk off his ass and in need to consume something to chase off his hangover.

Well, that’s what you would call a good plan.

“--putting fantastic boobs aside, don’t you think after almost a year it’s time to man up and go talk to him?”

Tobio snorts. Because like--really. “Why would you ever think to be entitled to dispense any sort of advice in the matter and expect me to take you seriously when you still sleep with the pink teddy bear I got you when we were 5 and the longest relationship you’ve ever had was with me and half the time we either ended up having hate sex or punch each other faces off.”

Oikawa makes a face of emotional discomfort, or something equally pathetic. “But I love hate sex,” he whines, a ridiculous pout plastered on his face, eyebrow knitted in a little frown.

Tobio will always wonder if all the times they had shagged in a haze of anger and annoyance were simply the logical consequence lead by unfortunate series of backhanded comments and insults or if the preludes themselves were just a mere pretext to get to that point and feel a little bit less ashamed of how much they both wanted it.

He doesn’t even know why they stopped at some point. He remembers the cheap beers they used to steal from Tobio’s dad cabinet, the rush of adrenaline of doing something behind their parents’ back and getting away with it. He remembers the fights, the mean words, and then the stolen kisses under the staircase at school. But most of all he remembers the clumsy and fumbling hands brushing against his skin and Oikawa’s voice lulling him into a sense a safety and wonder. No complications, not even much embarrassment at that point either. It was easy, kind of like everything that involves Oikawa and him.

He knows, though, that at some point their friendship became that little deeper, that little more genuine, started feeling like something that should be preserved and cultivated. Something that was far more important than some friendly shag and some orgasms, not matter how amazing they were.

Tobio’s body gives a full-body on shudder. _Oh my god what the fuck am I thinking about_. His skin crawls in disgust at his own sappiness, mentally slapping himself for the unforgivable slip of composure. This—this is what being friends with Oikawa for all these years does to a person, even the best one.

He startles when Oiwaka slaps a hand on his knee, before standing up and dusting his jeans off and adjusting his terrible t-shirt. “Okay, I’m off to the kitchen. Want a refill?” he asks with a kind smile, wriggling his eyebrows suggestively for reason Tobio fails to catch right now.

Tobio looks woefully at his drink, a very boring Vodka lemon whose taste isn’t even a distant relative of what it’s supposed to be. For his own sake he reckons it would be fairly clever to beg off further pursuits of intoxication with all the will power he can muster. “Nah, I’m good.”

“So what, then? You want a water? A biscuit? Some chips? A sense of decency?”  

Tobio kicks him on the shin in lieu of an actual answer, reasoning that restoring to violence instead of dealing with Oikawa’s sassy demeanor would entail less actual effort on his part and not lead to outcomes Tobio is not willing to put up with right now.

Oikawa grins devilishly and leans down to plant a far too wet kiss on his cheek not to be unintentional. “If I don’t come back, tell Watari I love him,” he yells, then fucking _skips_ across the room and disappears around the corner where Tobio presumes is the kitchen.

Kaeyama mentally flips him off.

God, does he love him so stupidly.

He relishes the temporary and yet gladly welcomed moment of solitude, taking advantage of the few minutes it will take for Oikawa to come back to bother him to take a look around the room. There are people who are already past the commonly decided point of decency, sprawled messily all over the places and literally vegetating on the various couches scattered in the large living room.

He spots Kindaichi slumped against a wall, equally intoxicated Mattsun and Hanamaki trying to insert various items inside all the available holes. He’ll have to join them at some point in the night.

Hinata has opened a new bottle beer, an Italian double malt that Tobio knows Hinata loves, not that he’s looking, mind him, he’s just happened to look over the kitchen to check whether Oikawa made it there alive. Also, it’s purely by accident that Tobio notices the faint flush riding high on his delicate cheekbones and how low his tight jeans are hanging on his delicate hips, and in particular the absolutely filthy hand loosely draped where his slender torso that beautifully narrows on his waist.

Filthy hand belonging to another equally annoying boy that goes with the name of Azumane, some sort of thug-looking giant with a stupid beard and stupid hair that Tobio fears might be just a teddy bear stuck in a scaring and too big body.

He drowns the rest of his drink, wipes a hand over his mouth with near to none finesse and tad of clumsiness and takes a final resolution: he’s going to go there, talk to Hinata, and find a way to get him in any state of nudity and possibly with his dick in Tobio’s mouth.

Yeah, that would be lovely. He’s prone on accepting anything else though, really, anything at the condition it will include butt stuff. Lots of butt stuff.

He stands up, fixes his beautiful and absolutely over-priced shirt, cards a hand through his messy hair, and after taking a shaky breath, he starts to walk. He lets his imagination trick him into the momentary illusion that this is indeed a great idea.

 _Fuck_ , this is the worst idea in the world of wrongness, which he’s not sure is a word but he’s too sober to come up with something better. Maybe his intent in granting his liver a temporary reprieve and give alcohol a berth wasn’t the best resolution Tobio has ever settled on. And on that same line of thinking, it only stands to reason to consider he’s in terrible need of a drink.

The fact that Hinata is perched on the counter just beside the blenders doesn’t play at all a deciding factor in Tobio’s decision.

He moves across the living room to the kitchen with his head bowed down, crippled expression paired with shaking hands, as if going to the gallows. Metaphor that wonderfully works if you consider what it means for Tobio to be doing something as embarrassing as flirting, which _, ewww,_ really.

Normal people just don’t do that.

  
Just before he can talk the sensible part of his brain out of this, just as he fishes his phone out of his pocket, Tobio makes the tremendous mistake of raising his head, just to find Hinata looking straight at him, curious smile gracing his face.

Tobio closes his eyes and _abortabortabort no, no, absolutely no, abort mission every man for himself, release parachute, motherfucking eject._ He mashes the keyboard, and with a final _sdoifjodaffffff_ _sent_ to Oikawa, he lets out a very manly squeak as he takes the final steps into the kitchen and into Hinata’s personal space.

He stops right in Hinata’s face and loudly says, “Hi,” perfectly conscious of how shrilling and cracking his voice sounds.

There are a dozen eyes staring blankly at him, a note of confusion, of anticipation, maybe, which Tobio candidly ignores in favour of literally dropping beside Hinata, his annoying smile on his disgustingly cute face only contributing further more to make any resolutions Tobio previously had to at least try to maintain a certain level of dignity crumble miserably.

With a sense of futility, Tobio schools his face into something resembling even just a little bit of disinterest, which doesn’t seems to even remotely deter Hinata from smiling even wider. “Hi to you too,” he crones out happily, and-- _god_ , Tobio is _so_ fucked.

He convinces his mind to come up with something cool to say, but his mouth seems to be adamant to embarrass him further more. “I—I-I,” he stutters pathetically, and--yes, wait to go Tobio.

“Hi there again. You are?”Hinata cranes his small head in a so disgustingly adorable gesture. The perfection of each tuft of orange hair makes Tobio want to reach out and pull on it. Just yank it hard enough to kiss him senseless.

“I’m—Tobio.”

“I’m Shoyo, nice to meet you,” he says while shoving an enthusiastic hand before Tobio’s face. He eyes it suspiciously, as if there might be some kind of trick behind it or something. It’s just so small and slender, tiny veins decorating wonderfully the pale and so soft-looking skin of his palm. It’s so delicate and perfect, would definitely look amazing wrapped around Tobio’s dick or clasped together with his own hand.

He hears a little cough and realizes he has been staring at Hinata’s beautiful hand for maybe ten minutes without saying a single word, other than probably muttering appreciative no sense to himself.

Hinata moves closer and takes Tobio’s hand in his, shaking it vigorously. “You seem a bit nervous. Want to take a drink?” Hinata asks with a bright and terribly cute smile, eyes crinkling slightly and head titling to the side once again. There is a high chance Tobio might have been catapulted in a fucking shoujo manga and he doesn’t even care. He tries to shape his mouth into a smile, something that happens to turn out a real failure judging bit the slight twitch of fear in Hinata’s eyes.

He cocks an eyebrow and Tobio wants to shove his tongue down his throat.

He doesn’t do that though, knows social conventions suggest that snogging someone’s face off as an ice-breaker is highly frowned upon. His mother taught him well.

Casual conversations peel away easily, much to Tobio’s surprise and pleasure. Which is a lie, mostly because he’s not really participating actively in the conversations around him, much more occupied in staring creepily at Hinata’s mouth as he talks and forgetting to breathe every time Hinata looks at him to make an actual effort to involve Tobio in the exchanges.

Everything is going seemingly fine. Against every prediction, Tobio still hasn’t thrown up all over Hinata or done something equally embarrassing as blurting out his undying love that he sure as hell doesn’t feel for him.

Just when his nerve start to settle, when he feels like he could tear down his wall long enough to enjoy Hinata’s company without fearing crapping himself in the pants, an arm drapes over his shoulder, Oikawa’s disgustingly sweet cologne fills up his lungs. “Well hello, love birds. You snogged him already?” he purrs inside Tobio’s ear, slightly nudging him in the stomach.

Tobio takes a breath, wills his mind to forsake any intention of braining Oikawa against the counter, and lets out a definitely awkward chuckle, much to Oikawa’s amusement. “You seemed to have disappeared in your quest to your drink so I was so gentlemanly coming to your rescue,” Tobio smiles sweetly, hoping his murderous glare is effectively sending the message across: _ruin this for me and I will ruin your face._

Oikawa has been always known for being an extremely dedicated hard worker, to set his brain on something and do his utmost to master it. Unsurprisingly, the art of not giving one single flying fuck about anything relative social buon gusto appears to have come to him so easily, like a true speciality. "Kindaichi always throws brilliant parties. Last time, I blacked out about halfway through the night and woke up stark naked in his bed and covered in blue, glittery body paint that spelled out 'I'm a yummy blueberry.' Great time really."

Hinata laughs, genuine and loud just like Tobio has come to love. Tobio proceeds then in his attempt to make formal presentations, tries not to make it sound like he’s presenting his girlfriend to his grandma in search of approval. He fails.

“So, Oikawa. Other than taking very good care of lovely Tobio here, what do you do in your life?” Oikawa’s face lights up at the sudden moment of attention. Such an attention whore. “Ah, I’m a radio host. I’ve got a link in the first hours of the afternoon. I’m so cool, aren’t I?” he muses out, a sprinkle of genuine pride bleeding through his voice.

Hinata lets out a sarcastic laugh, something new and so, so disturbingly hot that Tobio has never heard before. "Let me guess, you’re the type that likes that kind of jangly indie stuff? Songs about flying toasters with metaphors about vegetables?" he asks, a note of derision swinging in as he stares at Oikawa mockingly.

Tobio and Oikawa share a look of bewilderment that to any inexpert eye might be confused for _okay, you kill the bitch I bury the body_ , but to a closer and more throughout look it means _if you don’t marry him, I will._

Tobio needs to take a dive inside a pool of chamomile because -- _oh Jesus fucking Christ_ , not only is Hinata a beautiful and cute human being, but he’s a sassy asshole and Tobio is so in love with him it hurts his soul.

Oikawa grins then, soft and yet so sharp, then clicks his tongue. “To be fair I’m more the Mariah Carey and Justin Bieber kind of type so—,“ he trails off, shrugging his shoulder slightly as he brings his drink to his lips. Tobio and Hinata share a look, something that says _yeah that happened. We don’t talk about it. Ever._

“By the way, where did you disappear to before” Tobio asks with suspicion. Not that he really cares, just needs to make sure he won’t have once again to bolt out of a burning house in the middle of the night to avoid an angry frat boy shooting them in the ass. That happened too.

“I was—busy”

“Were you following him again?” At that, two very funny things happen. Oikawa strains his head at an impossible angle to avoid Tobio’s eyes, and Hinata’s attention seems to have picked intensely. Both mouths open at the same time.

“No?”

“Who? Who?”

Oikawa pauses. Turns his head to the short orange boy and stares at him, as if trying to figure out the sense of life. Then his face does a thing, somehow relaxes, the tense muscles of his face give out. “Iwaizumi Hajime. You know--big strong arms and thighs so ripe they could tear off my head.”

“Oh I know him. We’re mates. You got a crush on him?” Hinata declares loudly, totally unaware on the kind of monster his answer is about to unleash.

Oikawa’s face morphs once again, this time into a distinctive mixture of stubbornly manufactured indifference and thinly-disguised nervousness. “I think the word ‘crush’ fails miserably to properly define the kind of feelings I harbour for him. In my oh not so modest opinion, the more appropriate definition would be ‘I might or might not have around 200 photographs of him as a child stuck to my room walls’ or my personal favourite ‘do you want to know the story of how my girlfriend dumped me after I had kept calling her Iwa-chan while screwing’.

“Wow dude. You’re fucked,” Hinata giggless, while Tobio mentally face-palms himself from the utter shame. God only knows how many times Oikawa has called him at unholy hours of the night to ramble endlessly about Iwaizumi’s biceps or how good his arse looked in that sin in jeans form.

“Yeah, I know,” Oikawa says, and Tobio wonders how he did even manage to sound proud.

“Well, if you wanted, I could give you a hand. Maybe I could set you two together for a blind date and then see how it goes.”

“You can’t do that! What if I totally messed it up? I can’t just go there without knowing _anything!_ ”

“Seven and a half.”

“What?”

“Inches.”

It takes Oikawa a moment, and when he finally gets it it’s absolutely terrifying how quickly his expression morphs from confusion to shock to pure unadulterated glee. When he fishes a notepad out of his jeans and clicks open a pen to start writing, his hands are actually _jittery_ with excitement.

Tobio watches him and thinks, _this is not going to end well._

 _Hinata finally turns to him again, the timid smile that slips on his pale face causes Tobio’s heartbeat to skyrocket into unhealthy levels. “Aw you look so cute when you’re flustered Tobio-chan.” There is a warm hand now on Tobio’s cheek. He’s sweating like a pig and Hinata’s touching. He’s got a one-way ticket to_ _fuck you universe_ _land._

_Oikawa’s annoying voice brutally slices through the thick fog of pure love bliss. “He looks kind of constipated to me to be honest.”_

“Ugh, I’m gonna piss in your bed if you don’t fuck off, Oikawa, I swear.”

  
Oikawa laughs with far too much gusto for Tobio’s liking. “You've already done it mate,” he adds, pulling a knowing face he knows Tobio hates beyond human possible as he _skips_ once again across the room like a fucking fairy.

“It happened once Tooru. Once,” Tobio yells exasperated after him, pointing a menacing finger, but they both know it happened far more times than they are willing to remember.

They detach at some point, a very grumpy Oikawa complaining about the lack or supplemental liquid happiness to support the spectacularly, ridiculously shit-faced state he’s expecting to leave the party in, and Tobio is thankfully bailed out of the annoying situation.

Tobio’s brain was so otherwise occupied with plotting revenge against Oikawa that somehow he hasn’t noticed the tiny hand tremendously close to his crotch and rubbing painful circles on the rough material of his jeans.

Tobio’s eyes zero on his erection, feels betrayed by his stupid body which decided to react without his consensus. Then he sees Hinata’s face, and he can somehow see his wank bank implode.

Because Hinata’s mouth is curved in a smirk, and not in a sassy one, the one he has seen a lot tonight to mark his caustic and adorably dry sense of humor, but in a horny and impatient one that has Kageyama’s dick inflating like an air balloon.

“So,” Hinata drawls out, confidently takes Tobio’s hands and entwines their fingers together. He takes a step back, slowly dragging Tobio along towards the centre of the room. Just as Tobio is hastily rummaging through his brain to find something even remotely sexy to say, Hinata leans up just close enough to his mouth to send shiver down his spine and straight to his already aching cock. “Wanna go somewhere quieter?” he drawls out, bites his lips and rise a sensual eyebrow, if eyebrow could ever do that.

Tobio’s brain goes ECG flat, nods dumbly as he follows, and walk face-first against a wall.

 

 ------

 

 

As they pass through the living room to the back door, Tobio catches a glimpse of Oikawa bent over in the middle of the kitchen, hands on the floor and ass perched in the air and not other than Iwazumi Hajime idly slapping and grinding his crotch against it.

 

 

________

 

 

Tobio doesn't exactly know how he ended up in the back seat of his car with Celine Dion blasting on the radio and Hinata bouncing on his cock .

Okay, he does, but it’s a bit fuzzy. Probably because Hinata has both hands fisted in Tobio’s hair and is moaning obscenities inside his hear, or maybe, and just maybe, because he’s literally fucking himself on Tobio’s cock like he might die if he stops.

It’s nice, so very nice actually.

Rationally, he understood the progression of events as it had occurred.

In a fit of impulsive action that had made perfect sense at the time for reasons he can no longer recall- a rather common occurrence in Tobio’s life- he’d decided to test the proverbial waters just to make sure where the boundaries stood, giving little to no thought to the possible consequences, and opened his mouth to say something.

What _had_ happened was that Hinata had gone stiff, and when Tobio had pulled away, he’d found himself locked in a wide-eyed, tight-lipped staring contest which had ended in Hinata suddenly blinking, grabbing him by the shirt collar, and dragging him in with a ferocity he couldn’t have predicted.

It wasn’t a proper first kiss. There was no tentative touching of dry lips, no awkward tilting as they attempted to slot together. There was just heat and wet and Hinata licking into Tobio mouth like he’s never wanted anything more.

Tobio couldn’t keep down the _nngh_ when Hinata’s tongue slid slickly against his, couldn’t stop his body from going pliant, sagging against the car door until there wasn’t an inch of space between them, until he was almost bent under him, keeping the other boy curved over him, one hand still curled into Tobio’s fist, the other coming up to grip at the fabric over his spine.

He understood that much.

What he doesn’t understand quite so well was how exactly he’d gone from making out with Hinata backed against the car side to lying flat on his back on the leather seat with Hinata’s mouth around his cock.

Tobio is pretty sure that if he squints hard enough through the fog in his now other way occupied brain he can easily find the missing link.

Hinata had proposed talking a walk around, lamenting the start of a headache and to be in need of some fresh air. Tobio had beamed and said it was okay, even though when he stepped out the back door the adjective more suited to describe the air would have been glacial, not fresh.

“Want a fag?” Tobio had asked at some point, rumanaging through his brain to find something to say.

“Yeah, thank you,” Hinata had said and patted Tobio’s shoulder like they were brothers or something.

After five minutes of staring intently at how Hinata’s lips closed around the cigarette and how beautiful he looked as moonlight was licking at his skin, Tobio had smudged the cigarette against the wall, moved closer, almost hovering over him, and with all the creepiness he could muster, that’s when he hit the rock bottom.

“Can I just—let’s fuck?”

So _that_ ’s what happened.

Not very smooth, not even remotely, but effective nonetheless. Tobio might need to work on his tact, or lack thereof.

But he can’t complain, really, mostly because his brain had completely shut off the moment Hinata started to babble incoherently against Tobio’s mouth, a distorted litany of _more_ , of _please_ and _fuckmefuckmefuckme_. Hinata is pitching forward, leaning entirely on Tobio’s chest so he doesn’t shudder and fall over, Tobio’s big hands squeezing at his ass as he fucks his hips up to meet Hinata’s bounce, the dirty slap of skin resonating like an echo.

This is nice.

So _bloody fucking_ nice, to be honest.

On the note of things that are bloody fucking nice, Tobio is far too pleased to know that _yes_ , Hinata is indeed a screamer, and a completely shameless one.

Tobio had been quite worried at the beginning, what with Hinata being strangely silent, even as Tobio was four fingers deep and very much intent in teasing the living shit out of him till he started to beg. Then Hinata let out a whimper and without much finesse took Tobio’s wrist and pulled his fingers out, just to growl “oh god, will you just fuck me? _” to which Tobio gladly complied._

So yes, Hinata is _hella_ bossy too.

Gripping his hips again, hard enough to bruise and not caring, Tobio pulls out, lingers when the tip of his cock is about to stretch the ring of muscle, then rams it right back in. When Tobio closes his mouth around one of Hinata’s nipples and sucks hard enough to hurt, it only takes few strokes before Hinata’s coming all over Tobio’s hand and stomach.

When he's done shivering, he leans back heavily, trying to merge with the sticky seat. Hinata stays where he is, though, blinking at him with big innocent eyes like there isn't come on his stomach and face _. Tobio_ _'s come_. His hand drifts up without command, thumb digging into Hinata's cheek and slipping down to his chin. Hinata darts out his tongue to tease at the tip of Tobio's finger, and Tobio makes a helpless noise.

This is the definition of too much. He grabs whatever's in reach of his free hand and goes to wipe Hinata clean, and wills his dick to be quiet.

“Yeah. You’re good at riding.” There it is. There _it is_. Tobio’s a psychopath or something.

“Uh huh. I know that. You’re good at... having a big dick.” And well, nothing to argue with that.

Engrossed in his post-orgasmic haze, Tobio doesn’t probably realize the way he’s staring at him. He does, though, once on Hinata’s face slips on an expression of apparent concern. ”I swear. If you say you love me I will punch you straight in the face.”

“Oh god no,” Tobio says, _please marry me_ he thinks.

Hinata hops off the car, adjusts his jeans and shirt and just before he trots across the yard, he turns around with a strange expression. “Ah, almost forgot,” he starts, Tobio already far off, _of course I’ll be your boyfriend, dummy, no need to ask_ , and--

”-- what’s your name again?”

And Tobio doesn’t start crying.

Expect how he definitely does

 

\----

 

He stumbles clumsily inside the still cramped kitchen and saunters to the nearest bathroom just to check whether he still looks decent.

As happily expected, he looks absolutely discombobulated and wrecked, hair a messy mop on his head, cheeks flushed and a red hickey the size of Canada just blossoming on the left side of his neck. Taking aside the slight limp he’s sporting, the night was an utter success.

He enters the living room and spots Kunimi, eagerly chatting up with a cute black-haired girl he remembers seeing snogging another girl few hours before, and after awkwardly approaching them, places and apologetic hand on his shoulder. “Sorry to bother you mate. Have you by any chance seen Tooru?”

At the mere mention of the name Kunimi’s face muscles give a little twitch. Tobio relates to the sentiment. “Oh, yeah. He was running across the room to the garden and screaming. Something about a flying lampost and anal fisting. Or something.”

Tobio closes his eyes and prays. Prays someone would just have some mercy on him and _kill_ him, painfully, drain his body of its last drop of blood and then set it on fire. Twice. “Please, _please_ tell me he was still wearing clothes this time.”

“Ehm,” he coughs, once, twice, stuffing his hands inside his pockets. “Do a pink throng and wings count as clothes?”

Tobio shudders. He’s so going to delete his life.

He tries to suppress the urge to do something completely mad. Like running looking for Oikawa and burst his skull open with a macete.

He indulges in a rather pathetic soliloquy, lingering with particular attention on all the reasons why murder entails far too many repercussions than he’s willing to have to deal with. Tobio looks over Kunimi’s shoulder to see a very intoxicated and red-cheeked Oikawa at the other end of the room, standing on a table, preparing to do what seems to be like a very stupid stunt.

“Ugh. One sec.” Tobio says, raising a finger in front of Kunimi’s face, dashing swiftly over to Oikawa.

  
“Geronimo!” Oikawa shouts to a cheering crowd, preparing to jump off the table by bending his knees. Tobio grabs his calves just before he can move and pulls him down over his shoulder, walking back to a slightly amused Kunimi, rolling his eyes when the idiot mumbles something that sounded a lot like “the pinapples are coming,” and then literally dies on the spot, going all limp and soft.

  
“I gotta throw the trash,” Tobio says pointing to the collapsed body over his shoulder, while making his way toward the closest free bathroom on the far left.

He places him on the counter, trying to secure him in some way and preventing him from falling face-first on the floor, and runs back in the living trying to locate the missing clothes. He manages to find his trousers – lying atop the TV and stained with something he doesn’t want to know the nature of – and his sweater, which he proceeds to put on him once he’s back in the bathroom, thankful- or not- to find Oikawa still upright and breathing.

“Do you remember where you left your shoes?” He asks as he tries to make Oikawa’s body cooperate with his attempt to put his leg inside the jeans, willing his eyes to bypass the absurd throng barely covering the goods.

“I think I threw them over the hedge.”

“ _Why_?”

“I’m not very sure. I’m pretty sure it had something to do with a football.”

Tobio is 50 shades of done.

He’ll have to steal a pair of shoes from someone. He hopes Kindaichi is still where he saw him last. He won’t need shoes for a long while anyway.

With a sense of defeat, Tobio decides to carry on with his attempt to make his best friend look only a little bit decent, which is proved to be rather difficult. As for the reason, it seems the corpse started moving again for the sole purpose of making Tobio’s job a nightmare.

He wrestles Oikawa inside his t-shirt, which he’s pretty sure used to be white, and lets a small smile slip on his face. "I'm going to write a song entitled Oikawa Is The Worst Friend And He Can Choke On My Dick Metaphorically Not Literally Please Stop Looking At My Crotch Oikawa." He starts laughing hysterically as soon as Oikawa’s gelid hands slip under his shirt and tickle the extremely sensitive patch of his skin.

Their improvised fight wraps up with a new bruise on Oikawa’s hip and an avoided broken bone. Once Oikawa seems to have finally regained full consciousness, they renter the living room, putting on a façade of aloofness, hoping everyone forgot the previous show Oikawa staged.

Out of nowhere, what appears to be a very worried Iwaizumi walks up to Oikawa and, after a seemingly small debriefing, shoves his tongue down Oikawa’s throat and snogs the living hell out of him with a tad too much theatricality and anger, not that Oikawa seems to mind.

Actually, talking about him, his face is literally glowing, mouth equally occupied in making a total mess of Iwaizumi’s face.

After what seems like ten extenuating minutes, Iwaizumi frees him, moves his glistening mouth to Oikawa’s ear and whispers something that has Oikawa blushing a splendid shade of red all down to his collarbones. He nods, showing the infamous dopey smile Oikawa reserves for the rare occasions in which he’s so far too gone he completely abandons any inhibition and brings his fingers to his lips as he watches Iwaizumi disperse into the crowd.

Tobio’s face morphs into a grimace of pure and unadulterated repugnance. “That was _disgusting_ _,” he_ laments, before Oikawa can even recover from the shock of it all.  

Oikawa blinks out at him with unfocused eyes, then blinks out a few more times. “I--sorry?”

“Your _kissing technique._ It looked like you were trying to devour his face.” There is a huge red spot on Oikawa’s collarbone. He might have missed a lot of action while he was shagging Hinata’s brain out.

“I was,” Oikawa says defensively before bringing his hand up to muffle a sudden surge of nausea. Tobio moves without thinking to stand beside him, placing a careful hand on his back, rubs circles on the everlasting stiff knots of his shoulders. “Do you have to throw up?”

Oikawa pffrs - which, _rude_ \- then scoffs annoyed. “Kiss my ass”, because a simple ‘no’ just isn’t located in Oikawa’s repertoire.

Despite Tobio’s urge to leave him die here alone, he walks him to Kindaichi’s bedroom. The amount of pop idols on the walls finds Tobio extremely disturbed. Also, someone should teach him not to leave his filthy socks on the carpet and by the smell of them probably set them of fire.

Tobio had all the intention of properly taking care of Oikawa, of gently laying him down the bed, unfold lovingly his clothes and lull him to sleep. When Oikawa tries to grope him for the twentieth time, he literally drops him till he falls face-first on the pillow and slumps against the fluffy pink bedding.

"Sometimes," Oikawa tells him, "my intense hate for you dulls into an exasperated sort of dislike."

Oikawa stinks like poo. And like vomit. “Funny, never experienced that. Now sleep, you bag of poo.” He literally lays him down, more like pushes him, pats him few times to make sure he won’t move again. He then flops down too, places his head near Oikawa as he feels him relax beside him.

After a bit of silence, Oikawa starts once again.

“I might have accidentally told Iwazumi I want to have his babies.”

Tobio wants to tell him he is pathetic. He’s got a hunch he already knows.

“He might have punched me.” Oikawa sighs. Tobio does too. “It’s just—he’s different you know? I think I may really, really like him”

“I understand, Tooru.” He doesn’t.

“I’m trying _so hard.”_

“I know, Tooru.” He does.

“I just- this is the first time I feel like this. Isn’t that amazing?”

“It is, Tooru.” It isn’t.

“Have you ever—“

“--Tooru, shut the fuck up. ‘m trying to sleep.”

A strangely heavy silence settles in. Tobio thinks about his pillow. His wonderful, magnificently fluffy pillow that must be missing him so much.

“Do you think pigeons have feeling?”

And Tobio cries, just a little bit

 

 ----------

 

He wakes up the next morning with a startle.

His face is smushed against an awfully fluffy carpet that smells faintly of vodka and what is probably his own vomit, and a terribly aching neck.

He can’t string together the previous night past a certain point, but years and years of friendship with Oikawa taught him at his own expanses that very often it’s all for good, that some things are better left lying in the darkness of oblivion.

He knows at some point he abandoned every attempt of falling asleep and after drowning one of five glasses of Gin, he se got up and left Oikawa’s snoring form in the bedroom.

He spotted Hinata the second he made his way through the throngs of people dancing in the living room. With all the reserves he might have ever had only few hours previously blatantly flushed down the toilet together with any faux pretense to look somewhat cool, Tobio placed himself before Hinata and broke into a fairly awkward mating dance. That, and some equally successful flirtatious words got him some serious snogging and some fierceful groping and a hard bum to grind against.

He kind of blacked out after that. There are bits that come rushing back in flashes. Flashes of pale skin and rosy lips brushing against his. Flashes of a timid smile and fond eyes looking back at him as they danced together completely off tempo and not caring about whoever was near them.

The rest is a blur. After Oikawa entered the room again with sleepy eyes and took possession of the karaoke stand, Tobio willed his mind into unconsciousness and went to sleep, he thinks.

After considering for about ten minutes the idea of dying or maybe just induce some kind of temporary coma on his brain and hope to wake up in another dimension where hangovers don't exist, he finally gets up, accepting defeat, just to nearly fall down on the floor again.

 _Fuck you_ , whoever invented alcohol. And like, floors.

He walks into the kitchen, grumpily scratching at his stomach, and finds Oikawa, hunched over the counter. He eyes the spoon Oikawa is using in the attempt of cutting a bread loaf, sighs dramatically, and moves away. He makes a quick stop at the toilet, takes a piss and splashes some water on his face, attempting to wash the taste of shame off his skin. He needs a shower, and to probably revaluate a thing or two about his life choices.

When he renters the kitchen Oikawa has hopped on the counter, munching loudly at a burned toast and beaming like an idiot. “You always get awfully cheerful after you get thoroughly fucked, you know?” he comments as he dashes over the fridge and scans the meagre content in search for something edible.

Oikawa looks slightly confused, gulping a rather massive chunk of bread before saying, "We didn't actually fuck. Or I mean. What would you say counts as fucking?"

Tobio glares with his head still deep into the fridge. "What would you say counts as murder, Oikawa? Because you're about to experience it personally."

Oikawa does the hand thing and moves on. "I'm pretty sure what happened was a mistake. It was really dark and then it was like, whoops, there's your penis! Whoops, there's my ass! Whoops, there it goes!" he chuckles. “I lost him at some point just to find him barfing his guts up in the petunias of Kindaichi’s mother.”

That woman deserves some love. And probably some apologies.

“So, did you—like, confess?” Tobio asks as he sets his eyes on what looks like food, even if old enough to be considered a fossil.

“No really. But I gave a rimjob. Does it count?”

“Mh, probably.” Tobio notices just now the rather larger sized tank top Oikawa is wearing. Iwaizumi must have appreciated the gesture he guesses.

“Even though you know how much I love when we talk about me, what about you? Did you do the thing?” Oikawa sips his tea, acting innocent, pinky sticking out primly.

“If by the thing you mean me shoving my dick up his ass, then yes.” Oikawa beams, wipes a non-existent tear away from his eye, places a hand over his chest and drones out, “Aw, I’m so proud of you. Was it before or after I found you naked in the bathtub crying because you were trying to light a fag up from the filter with your phone?” he asks, taking a long sip of his tea.

“Wha—“

“--Anyway, whoever drew that thing there really lacks any sense of proportion. Who’s got balls that big,” Oikawa mutters to himself as he hops down the counter and moves toward some unknown direction.

In a daze, Tobio wills his legs to walk him to the bathroom, jumping over the mass of dead bodies and discarded paper glasses on the floor. He enters the bathroom, places himself in front of the mirror, closes his eyes in fear, then clicks on the light.

There, scribbled right across is forehead, there is a phone number, and a decisively massive penis takes up all the length of his right cheek.

 

The thing is, Tobio really, really hates Hinata Shouyou.

                            

**Author's Note:**

> If you were expecting something serious, HA, you thought wrong.


End file.
